Consumer Guide Reviews:

My Blue Heaven -- The Best of Fats Domino (Volume One) [EMI, 1990]
Domino was the most widely liked rock and roller of the '50s--nobody hated him, which you couldn't say of Elvis, or Pat Boone, who despite the color of his skin charted just two more top 10 records. Warm and unthreatening even by the intensely congenial standards of New Orleans, he's remembered with fond condescension as significantly less innovative than his uncommercial compatriots Professor Longhair and James Booker. But though his bouncy boogie-woogie piano and easy Creole gait were generically Ninth Ward, they defined a pop-friendly second-line beat that nobody knew was there before he and Dave Bartholomew created "The Fat Man" in 1949. In short, this shy, deferential, uncharismatic man invented New Orleans rock and roll. These 20 two-minute hits, import-only for years, are where he perfected it. I'm overjoyed that the laggards at EMI promise another nicely annotated volume "in the coming months," and will believe it when I see it. Grab this one, kids. A+

Fats Domino Jukebox: 20 Greatest Hits the Way You Originally Heard Them [Capitol, 2002]
If rock is a music of voices and guitars, its New Orleans variant is a music of pianos and drums. It rocks, sure, but people love it for the way it rolls. Its friendliest exponent is charter Rock and Roll Hall of Famer Antoine Domino, who scored more pop hits in the '50s than anyone except Elvis, Pat Boone, and Perry Como. Every one shows up on the solidly enjoyable "They Call Me the Fat Man . . . ." box. But the best are concentrated on this cheap little party record--a surprisingly intense one, given the sweet lassitude of Fats's drawl. Break your own heart--put on "Walking to New Orleans." [Rolling Stone]

Alive and Kickin' [tipitinasfoundation.org, 2006]
What connects these 13 tracks to Hurricane Katrina is that without the disaster they might not have been released until the man died. All were recorded by 2000, and only two, neither the stone standout you'd assume, didn't originate with Domino, who says it took years to write some of them right. You'd never guess it. The descending four-note piano hook on "One Step at a Time," for instance, could be played by a three-year-old--with a perfect sense of rhythm. But just ask Ernest Hemingway when you get the chance: Artistic simplicity can be that way. Compared to the uncredited studio work here, Richard Perry's tastefully star-studded Fats revivals of the late '60s sound like, somewhere between Phil Spector and Phil Ramone. Calm and meditative rather than playful and ebullient, this is a record only the most congenial of rock 'n' roll legends could have created. We're lucky to have it. A-